Another lesson masked as an oxymoron.

I had difficulty sleeping a few nights ago. When I finally did, I dreamt that I was going blind. It was a situational blindness that only affected me if I wasn't looking at something that I loved. At first, it was a blessing. I could only see the parts of the world that I loved. I was blind to all the dysfunction of our society and, as you can imagine, it was a relief. Since I couldn't see anything other than love in my world, I focused all my energy on that love. I relished in the beauty of nature. Cultivating love consumed my every action. I spent time playing with my dogs and falling deeper and deeper in love with everything in my new perfect world. It was such a remarkably beautiful existence and I felt as if I had finally found what humankind has been looking for all along.

Unfortunately, the rose-colored existence was temporary. The world changed. There was a dark shift and I was able to see less and less. Even things I loved seemed to turn and I could no longer enjoy all that which had brought me so much peace and clarity before. I could no longer function by myself so a friend from high school came up from Florida to help me out. After several failed attempts at resorting my eye sight, we decided that the only possibility of living a functional life was traveling down to the Florida Keys. Surely, my beautiful niece and nephew, my brothers, my parents, palm trees, and horizon-to-horizon ocean views would overwhelm my senses with so much love, there would be no option but for me to be able to see again.

The drive down was as expected. Dark and confusing. I knew we were in South Florida when I smelled the briny salt air. One of my favorite feelings is stepping out of an airplane into the intense, sticky, humidity of South Florida. I love the smell of the ocean meeting the land. I love the viscous texture of the air reverberating in my lungs. As we drove through the everglades, my vision would flash in and out. Glimpses of the knotted and gnarled flora, worn down and hardened by the intense sun, hurricanes, and brackish water were infrequent.

When I was in high school, Hurricane Wilma came through and all the plants in the Keys died. Everything was brown and dirty. I remember feeling like that must have been what winter looked like in the rest of the world. Turns out it was, but on a much smaller scale. I remember hating it.

In my dream, this is what the Keys looked like. It wasn't the paradise I was hoping for. I could see some, but for the most part I was still blind. Even the ocean wasn't the same. It was as if the water of the ocean was dying on a molecular level. I had this intense realization that I would never be able to experience the beauty and love of the world the way I had when this first began. Eventually, I was fully blind, navigating a dark world that held no love. I wept from my core and woke up with a tear stained pillow early the next morning.

I can't shake the loneliness that dream brought. The isolation of being trapped by my own senses and the terrifying feeling of a life without love.

This weekend I had a lot of soul-searching to do. My life is in transition and, while I know that all will fall into place just as it is meant to, I am scared. Paralyzed by fear, actually. I am afraid to make the wrong decision and end up trapped. I know that everything happens just as it is meant to, and I know that I am in the exact place I need to be, but that doesn't mean that the fear of ruining my own life isn't a very real experience.

Today, I made a decision. One that I stand behind and one that I know was right for me. I very seriously considered changing my mind, right down to the last moment. Before I officially decided, this dream came back to me once again. I knew that I needed to make this decision from my heart. This decision doesn't necessarily “make sense” on paper, but I know that it was made from a place of love. It very well may have been the first time I have ever done something purely out of love for myself. 

It's an interesting oxymoron. Selfishly selfish. Put your own mask on before assisting others in a plane crash. Leave your child with a babysitter so you can rejuvenate and ultimately be a better mother. Take a break from work so you can come back and be more productive. You have to take care of yourself before you can successfully take care of others. You can't be in love with someone else unless you are in love with yourself. This is one of the most difficult and important lessons I need to learn. I have a feeling situations like this will continue to pop up until I know this selfish selflessness as an old friend.

I know that if I am living in a world of darkness, I am unable to shine light into the world of others; living a life of love is the only way I can make a difference.

XO

A

Dead Letters, Doubts, and Immature Videos

Last week I spent a lot of time writing dead letters. I can remember writing these from the time I was young enough to both have feelings and string together words in a somewhat coherent fashion.

I've written dead letters to:

People I have a crush on.

People I have been in or am currently in a relationship with.

President's of the US of A.

My family.

Co-workers.

Friends.

People who have inspired me.

People who have hurt me.

People I don't even know.

People who make me feel insecure.

People I am too afraid to talk to.

People not yet born.

Most likely you.

And most often, myself.

(I also have a vague memory of writing one to the “Candy Makers of the Universe.”)

According to my current crush, a man named “Google”, a dead letter is: a letter that is undeliverable and un-returnable.

I write these letters so I can express how I really feel without the consequences of the other person knowing. Whether it be saving myself from embarrassment, not really meaning what I am presently feeling or unwillingness to officially commit a class D felony under United States Code Title 18, section 871 (thank you, Google, you dashing young thing). I write these letters so as not to harbor any unnecessary feelings. Sometimes I write the same letter over and over again to the same person, in hopes that one day I will be able to adequately say what I really mean. And sometimes I write these letters because it is the only thing that quiets the screaming of my own voice inside my head.

Last week I spent hours one evening sitting at my desk writing lists, crossing items off lists, re-writing items, writing down goals, writing down hopes, writing down poems I remembered, writing down poems that don't make sense and mostly writing a huge pile of dead letters. The intention is to read each letter one more time then burn them and never write that person another letter ever again.

I admit if someone had been spying on me that evening it is likely they would have questioned my mental sanity. By the time I was finished, half the floor was scattered with incomprehensible, tear-stained scribblings. I did my best to exclude any use of the word “hate” but I'm pretty sure I used every synonym and possible replacement. However, at the end of each letter I made sure to write a wish for that particular person. For some, I wished them peace. For others, I wished them truth. But for one, I wished she would learn how to be a good person. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn't bring myself to find any sort of positivity in this letter.

In a world that hinges on negativity I tend to put effort into cultivating positivity in most situations. I believe that you can be depressed while smiling and standing up straight, but I also believe it would be advanced. So I really try very hard to look for the light in the dark. But, when it comes to this person, I cannot even be thankful for all the invaluable lessons I learned from the pain she caused me.

What does that say about me? I can generally talk and walk a pretty good “power of positivity” path. So why can't I be the good person I spend time nurturing when I think of her? Of course I have a long way to go on the path of turning into the type of person I eventually hope to be and maybe this is part of that particular journey.

This isn't going to be one of those really profound entries, where I talk about a revelation I had or some sort of completion. Truly, this is more of a question.

How far have I really come on the road of personal progress if I cannot find one nice thing to wish for this girl?

Am I a good person if I openly admit that I don't believe there is potential in this person?

Is it weird if I say out loud that I believe she is the worst parts of who I am in one terrifyingly dangerous package?

Do I really believe that there is good in every single person, just waiting to be nurtured and begging to be let out?

It took me a few days to write this down and build up the courage to post it. I worry that admitting these less than kind feelings proves something about me that I am terrified to be true. I realized this morning that while there may be parts of me that need work, the important part is that I am paying attention enough to know. My teachers would say to spend more time meditating on loving kindness. To hold this person's image in my mind and send them love and light whenever possible. 

That seems to be a problem.
It's never possible. 

So there it is. My truths. My doubts. You don't have to agree with them because, to be honest, I don't know if I agree with them myself.

XO

A

And now to off-set that little bit of real life, I'd like to share with you the greatest video in the world. Thank you, Joe Boxer and K-Mart for this gem. No, really. Thank. YOU. 

Affirmations

Today I am giving myself a break. I give myself permission.

I am allowing myself to feel all the good that surrounds me. I will harvest that energy into the womb of creation and vibrate into the ether. I will fill myself up, with only myself, until I am full and spilling over. I am raising my vibration.

I will not allow myself to feel overwhelmed. I will catch my breath and create peace within myself. Love is my birthright. I was born into this earth a divine creature, whole, beautiful and full of potential. 

The pieces of myself are not individual, they are but parts of a whole. Addressing my life in sub-sections benefits no one, most assuredly not myself. I am whole. 

The only way to truly feel satisfied is to be satisfying. I am satisfying.

Today I let go of the past and breathe in the potential of tomorrow. I can not move forward without my eyes on the road ahead. I am open to creation.

I am allowing space in my life for new opportunities but letting go of expectations. Knowing disappointment is divinity keeping me on my path of opportunity. I am moving in positivity. 

Love flows through me, freely and without hindrance. It pours out of me to every one I meet. I have more to offer.

Brother Bears.

Today is National Sibling Day. It's not on my calendar but everyone on Facebook says it is, so it must be so. I'm OK with that. Any excuse to reminisce on my brothers is a good enough excuse for me.

Stephen (not Steven... pronounced Stefan, thank you much), Jon, and I have always been best friends. Please don't get me wrong, we have also been worst enemies. Each other's nightmares. Boxing opponents. Each other's science experiments. Cohorts in crime. Drinking buddies. Voices of reason. Voices of un-reason. We have been raised by each other. We have kept secrets for and from each other. But most of all, we have loved each other.

Stephen 

Stephen's first day of 1st Grade in AUS

We have always been each other's rock. When I would cry, he would come running. Always. Without fail. As most siblings do, we went through a few tumultuous years. Oh, the epic battles. I seem to remember knife fights (ahem... mostly from me), cop threats, being thrown off the boat while Dad was diving, purple-nurples and drawn on mustaches. All violence aside, Stephen is the most gentle human being you will ever meet. He is 6'10 and I couldn't even begin to guess how much he weighs. But the first time I saw him hold his tiny daughter in his arms, I remembered the feeling I used to get when he would wrap his 6 year old arms around me and say,

Stephen and his wife.. He's so sweet. 

"Oh.. Arielle. Don't cry. Don't cry, Arielle. Don't cry." He is sensitive and strong. He can't spell very well, but he can blow your mind with the amount of knowledge he holds in his brain. Ask him anything about the ocean, and I guarantee he knows at least a little bit about it. He's not a small man, but he is graceful underwater. When he was 13 he could free dive 40+ feet with a pole spear, stone a fish dead, bag it and swim to the surface with nothing but a mask and still have breath to spare.

He is turning 27 this month. He will also celebrate his one year anniversary to the most perfect woman and his son's 6th birthday. His son is the spitting image of him. They even have the exact same paddle feet. I love you, Stephen. Today and every day.

One of my favorite pictures from when the kids were little(r).

Cooking for One. Cooking for Many. "The Secret Ingredient."

I love cooking. 

Not as much as I love yoga, but I would say it is definitely a close second. I used to cook with my mother growing up and it never really felt like a chore, even though it was clearly printed on the list squeezed right between "Do Homework" and "Do Dishes."

 I hated that check list. I hated those chores. I was angry that my friends didn't have a list the size of their forearm (drama didn't begin in my 20's... clearly) to complete EVERY.SINGLE.DAY. They may have.. and they may have not. But I was convinced that I was the only person in the entirety of Planet Earth that had to do any of these absurdities. Make my bed and put my laundry away? Surely, if only the Chinese had my mother in their ranks they would have thrown away water torture and resorted to back breaking pick-up-your-own-dirty-socks type activities. 

"Cook Dinner with Mom," however, never felt like a chore. 

I remember the day mom taught me about making gravy. 

"You can't stop stirring it, Arielle. Or else you'll get lumps." 

And I didn't stop. I stirred and stirred until I thought my arm couldn't handle stirring any more (approximately five minutes). 

And mashed potatoes? 

A box was blasphemy. I would stand at the trash can and peel a pile of potatoes so high I could barely see over them.

Pancakes.
Flip them when the bubbles start to pop. 

If I don't stop right here this will become nothing more than me remembering the first time I cooked rice and burned it. Or the first turkey I made for Thanksgiving and rocked it. 

Point being, I loved cooking then and I have only continued to love cooking even more as I have grown. 

There is one type of cooking that had always terrified me.

Cooking for myself. 

I must not be alone. There are cook books, websites, classes and workshops you can attend to teach you how to cook for one person. I have never taken advantage of said resources but I'd like to. 

In the past four years or so I have fallen in love with cooking for one. 

I can try new things without worrying if it comes out perfect. 

I can ask myself "What do you want to eat?" and really listen to my body for the answer.

As the years have passed I've cooked a lot. Both for other people and just for myself.

Beautiful red quinoa. 

Last night, I went to my friend Katy's house and we cooked for her family. Recently I've been cooking a lot for two people, which is also really fun. Realistically, cooking for two is what I have done the most. Last night we cooked for four. It was so much fun. Watching each person enjoy different parts of the same meal in completely different ways. The little one loved the "chicken" (read: fish) but only from his mother's plate. I was freaking out over the red quinoa. Katy loved the salad. Everyone enjoyed it all. 

It made me remember how much fun it is to cook for more than just one or two people.

Yoga has changed every aspect of my life. Including how I eat.

The yoga of eating.

There are numerous articles, books, lectures and opinions out there on this very subject. For me, the most prevalent idea is that as we cook we are transferring our energy into the food. Our emotions. Our thoughts. Our feelings. And the people who eat this food are literally eating our emotions. You remember that typical mom phrase, "I made it with the secret ingredient.." as they hand you a brownie and pull you in close. "Love." they whisper in your ear just as you take the first bite out of a warm, fudgey, chewey brownie. 

Of course now we "know" that love can't be taken out of your heart and mixed in with the brownie mix. But, undeniably, mom's brownies were the best. Even if years later you found out they came out of the box. There really was some secret ingredient. 

Love. 

Why not?

I have never met someone who can quantify or qualify love. Or anger.  Or happiness.  Or disappointment  Or any other array of emotions. Sure, you can tell me all about the biochemical reactions going on in our bodies. You can tell me all about brain activity and synaptic responses. But that's not LOVE. That's not HOPE. That's not FEAR. 

And in that light, I hope that every time I cook I am adding the secret ingredient(s). 

I try not to cook when I am in a less than decent mood. Granted, I don't like to eat when I am in a less than decent mood unless I am shoving brownie after browning (lacking in such secret ingredients) into my face... which is a whole separate discussion on self-control and restraint. 

So tonight, I will cultivate all the beauty in my life as I cook. 

I will focus on the incredible weather. My sweet dogs. All the yoga I have learned and will learn. My truly precious friends. New love. Old love. Family. Hope. Dreams. 

Tonight, I feed myself so tomorrow I can feed others.

A

Inspiration from Today's Yogi Tea:

To learn, read. To know, write. To master, teach. 





















Love what is ahead by loving what has come before. 

Morning Musings

I can feel myself changing.

Change is to be expected as I age but it's a little odd to be so hyper aware of it.

I'm beginning to love mornings. 

Don't get too excited, Mom.. I don't love waking up.

But I do love mornings. 

It's a new start.

 Last night doesn't even matter. Yesterday is gone. And here we are this morning, with a whole new opportunity to do something incredible. Granted, I will be working most of my day away. But who says that can't be incredible in some way?

My morning started out pretty incredible. Early morning cuddling. Tomato basil scrambled eggs. A large cup of Yerba Mate tea in my favorite giraffe mug. Arielle (WHICH ONE?!?!) sent me this mug a few years back for my birthday. Oh, how I miss my name twin...

It's snowing... still. It's been snowing for days. Two Sundays ago it was incredible.
Spring had sprung.
It was 75 degrees, the sun was spectacular, and I was doing headstands in the yard. The next day it stormed something awful. The next day it was 40 degrees. That night is started snowing and it hasn't really stopped. Nothing impressive.. a light dusting.. melts by noon... but continues to lightly fall from, sometimes, seemingly nowhere. 

It appears Spring has unsprung. 

This wouldn't have been a problem had I not already given in to the idea of  camping, hiking, kayaking, shorts, tan lines and general warm weather debauchery.

 It is beautiful, though.

It makes me feel like life is moving in slow motion, which is a welcomed juxtaposition to the feeling of hurried rapidity that I normally experience. You have to slow down when it snows. You can really hurt yourself if you don't.

There's a saying out there.. something about taking time to smell the roses.

I experienced this lesson first hand recently. 

I had been sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers about a week and a half ago. It had a variety of flowers, including roses in it. They were beautiful and smelled so nice. 

Per the usual, I was busy. I would stop and touch one of the petals occasionally, smile to myself, thankful that someone thought highly enough of me to send me such a beautiful gift. Maybe I'd take a quick sniff, then off I'd twirl into the happenings of my day. I tried to be mindful enough to stop at least once a day and appreciate those beautiful flowers. But sometimes I'd forget and sometimes life would be so distracting that I just couldn't truly appreciate the flowers for all that they really were. 

It feels like one moment they were plump and vibrant and the very next they were wilted and dull. Just the roses, mind you.
They were the most delicate. 

They were so beautiful when the flower delivery man first brought them to me. 

The other flowers are still beautiful and I have since removed the roses because they were so depressing and a reminder that I had failed to truly appreciate them while they were here. I didn't slow down enough to just take in all that they had to offer. 

Because, truly, they really were beautiful. 

Maybe I'll be lucky enough to be sent flowers again one day. And hopefully I'll be able to really appreciate them for what they are. A temporary and beautiful distraction from the mundane, manic and, sometimes, psychotic whirlwind of life. 

...I won't go on about this next subject for too long. After all, you can easily find these very same opinions, written significantly more eloquent than I am capable of, somewhere out on the Internets...

How, in our evolved, industrialized, forward thinking, 21st century culture are we still wasting our time debating and, in some cases, trying to deny any two humans the right to marriage? 

How is this possible?

I am both moved and disgusted by what I see on social media websites, in the news, and in my town.

Heterosexual individuals fighting furiously for something that, arguably, "doesn't really affect them." Republicans who are openly supportive of marriage equality. A president that openly supports marriage equality. Friends and family who truly believe love is love.
What a fortunate series of events that I am lucky enough to live in such a time.

And my heart breaks to hear that there are people out there still so vehemently opposed to the idea of a man and a man or a woman and a woman committing to each other for the rest of their lives.

I just don't seem to understand how you can be so violently opposed to the happiness of two people. 

Legal marriage isn't stopping these people from living together.
 Loving together.
Raising a family together. 

Marriage is a state of mind and the sanctity of such cannot possibly be destroyed by love.
It is already destroyed by the fact that 50% of all heterosexual marriages end in divorce.

Like it or not, there are already same sex couples out there who are successfully functioning in the realm of marriage-- even in states like North Carolina where last year we took significant steps backwards in this area-- without a piece of paper.

It's already happening.

There are other issues we could be bringing in front of the Supreme Court. 

And that's all I'll say about that. 

On a more directly personal note, I seem to be have developed some sort of sensitivity to... something. As some of you might know, I'm lactose intolerant. Too much gluten/wheat gives me hives. I have problems digesting the peels of cucumbers (is this not absolutely absurd?). And, it appears, I now have something new and exciting to figure out.
I'm concerned it's corn.
Which is awesome, considering corn and corn by-products are in everything in this country.
After eating, my stomach will be in knots. It swells up and I, no joke, look 4 months pregnant. I'm not saying I have 6-pack abs, but I definitely don't have a stomach that sticks out farther than my boobs. Except, right now, I do.
And I have no idea what is going on.

An elimination diet might be in my near future.
Which is awful.
Or a juice cleanse.
Which isn't awful, and I actually enjoy.
But it's expensive.

Bah.
Hopefully I figure it out soon.
I love to eat and right now I am dreading it.

Although I did eat the eggs and tomatoes this morning and it isn't any worse.
It's not any better, but it isn't any worse.
Hmmm..

On another note, my friend Maia started a blog. It's called Belly Pride  and I love it.
Also, Post Secret has some great secrets up this week.
And I have a new love in my life.
His name is Karl Pilkington.
If you don't love him.. well, I will still try to love you... but I might wonder about your judgement a little bit.

All right, real life is calling. 

Hope your morning turns out to be just as nice  as mine has been. :)

A

Wrong Side Up

Today is the first day of my 7th Yoga Teacher Training weekend. 

Every Friday of this weekend, I feel as if I am:

Extemporaneous. 

Inexperienced.

Inflexible. 

Young. 

Vaulting Ambition. 

Something I have been meditating on recently is NOT listening to myself so much. I have the two sides of my ego.. the devil and the angel.. whispering into my ear. I don't necessarily feel like the "devil" side is trying to hold me back or keep me from realizing all my dreams. I think of this little guy more like a parent, petrified by fear of me hurting myself. Trying to convince his 'child' not to move out of the house for fear of their failure. This devil manifests in my consciousness as these negatives thoughts, attempting to scare me into safety. 

Truth is, I am terrified of failing. What if this isn't my path? What if my higher self isn't ready for this type of metaphysical cracking open that I am forcing it into? It seems easy to listen to He Devil and just stay home, curled up in my bed with my dogs who wouldn't judge me for chickening out. 

And then I remember I have to face myself in the morning. 

I have spent a lot of time learning and relearning how to treat other people. I feel like I am a relatively kind person and only hope that as I age I find more kindness, understanding, and compassion. However, I do not always afford myself the same kindness as I do others. I listen to these negative thoughts and, often, believe them to be true instead of listening to the angel in my ear telling me I am: 

Strong.

Eager.

Balanced. 

Idealistic.

Determined. 

All of these things, I am. Arguably, I am also all of the things on the aforementioned list. I am not as prepared with my yoga homework, home practice or meditation as I should be. I do not have a lot of experience-- yet. I am working on finding more length in my hamstrings and flexibility in my hips. I am young. And maybe I am overly ambitious.

So maybe it's not about not listening to myself. 

Maybe it's more about choosing the way in which I hear the things I am saying to myself. That's something we all are fully capable of doing-- choosing the way in which we hear things. I don't know how many times, as an ornery teenager, my mother and I fought because of the way one of us "heard" the other say something. 

Will I choose to hear positivity?

Hm.

I have become obsessed... allow me to try that again... I have become OBSESSED with being upside down. 

Excuse the pajamas. Yes, those are Care Bears on my shorts. 

Hate on it.

This past Sunday was St. Patrick's Day. It was 75 degrees and sunny. I spent a very large portion of the morning and early afternoon upside down outside in the sun. I am not sure if I can fully express exactly how perfect that was. 

Wait, yes I can.

I know just the right word.

It was awesome. 

Seriously, though. During my home practices, I find myself wishing I could get through the first 2/3 of the series quicker so that I can get to the inversions. I'm not as strong as I need to be for a long, sustained forearm balance or handstand... yet. But I am experimenting with different leg variations in my headstand! 

I can hold these for a relatively decent amount of time before having to come out... But the harder ones.. they are a different story. 

I fall. 

A lot. 

A whole lot.

Way more than I did when I was skiing a couple weeks ago.

Sometimes I fall hard. 

Yesterday, I fell straight backwards. Almost landed on Spindale. I caught it on film and I have a good chuckle every time I watch it. Some one told me a couple of week ago, "If you aren't falling, you aren't learning." 

Well, I must be learning then, because Jesus Mary and Joseph, am I falling a lot. But for those split seconds when I'm balancing on nothing but my forearms and my heels aren't touching the wall, time stops and I'm fully convinced I've been there for a minimum of one hour. 

In reality, I'm lucky if I'm sticking the harder inversions for a couple of seconds.

But that's not the point. 

The point is, when I'm flying like that, I know without a doubt that wrong side up is not wrong,  and right side up isn't always right.

Here's to a weekend full of laughter, love, and (hopefully) lots of the wrong side up. 

A

Once Again, I am a Slacker

It appears, history repeats itself once again. I am a slacker and haven't made any updates. And I even promised a book review and failed to do so there.

In my defense, life has spiraled into a controlled chaos. And I wouldn't have it any other way. :)

Yoga has been, and continues to be, the driving force behind, arguably, my every action. In just a few quick months, my life has completely turned into something not only worth being proud of, but truly worth living. I think in the first post I ever wrote I said something about... let's see. What did I say again?
 [Please Hold]

I had to go back and look. Here is what I said:

"My life is beautiful and dysfunctional and sometimes overwhelming. I wish I could say I wouldn't change a thing.. but I'm working on that. I think that's my ultimate goal. To wake up in the morning, look around and honestly say, "Everything is just fine." "

I don't think I can say that everything is perfect, but I can definitely tell you that from the moment I wrote that in August to this moment right now, my life has completely changed its course. The middle of 2012 until the beginning of 2013 was pretty.. well.. intense for me. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the most intense situation I've ever been in, but it is easy to forget that we've struggled with worse when we're in the thick of an unpleasant circumstance. Especially one that is unlike any situation we have ever found ourself in.

 For the past six months, I have spoken with my dear friend, Stephanie, almost every day. I'd tell her all about how everything in the world was falling apart and I just wasn't sure how to put it back together. But in (almost) every conversation I would tell her: This has to change. I don't know when, but I am going to keep working. I am going to keep doing yoga and keep working hard and keep being positive. Something good has to come from that. 

And it has. 

There continues to be more and more yoga in my life. I am physically, mentally and emotionally stronger than I think I have ever been before. I am learning how to look down on a situation from a neutral perspective and truly make a judgement call based on something other than my flighty fickel nature. I have decided that I will surround myself with the most extraordinary people. And I will learn from their extraordinary nature, thus continuing to shape my life and myself into exactly what I want it to be. I have continued to experiment with nutrition. I can feel a difference in every cell in my body. I won't continue to ramble so we'll suffice it to say that I am happier than I can ever remember being. 

That may not be true.
I have a very specific memory from when I was three on Trinity Beach in Australia. I climbed up onto (what seemed to be) the biggest rock in the history of rocks. I stood there, clutching the warm surface with my toes, facing the wind and felt like I was on top of the entire world.
Here is that moment:

Today, I am as happy as I was when this photograph was taken. I am on top of the world. 

Figuratively, of course. I wouldn't want my fellow Archer fans to literally get upset because of my literal misuse of the word "literally." 

Long story short, everything is awesome. And you're awesome. And I'm awesome. And let's go be awesome together. 

But on the real side of things.. I feel like the luckiest girl alive today.

What was that? How's my teacher training going? 

I'm glad you asked.

I have three weekends left of my 200 hour YA certification. It's so exciting and a little sad as well. I graduate in May... May 19th. However, I'm jumping right into my 500 hour YA certification. Actually, I'll begin my first module before I even finish my 200 hour certification. 

This one is a little different. It won't be with the same group of people as it is set up into 11 modules. You can register and pay for the modules as you are ready to take them. So, basically, you are in control of when you finish. The goal is to complete my 1000 hour certification from Asheville Yoga Center within the next six years. 

I'll be 30 at that point. 

I love teaching, and in fact, have a private session today in about an hour. I am off from my desk job today and have packed my day full of teaching, studying, writing and taking yoga classes. 

I love days like today. 

In a non-yoga related story (GASP) I learned how to ski on Sunday! Sometimes I forget that I enjoy doing things other than yoga. It was really nice to completely move outside of my comfort zone. 

I fell.

A couple really good, hard times. Falling is something I have always been a little afraid of. I'm tall. It's a long way down. Falling from grace, then opening to grace, and oscillating between those two actions is something I am becoming much more comfortable with. 

Maybe it has something to do with all the inversions and arm balances that are so challenging to me, yet I am completely obsessed with mastering. 

Anyway, back to skiing. It was awesome. Nothing like water skiing... except the skis. Nothing like roller blading. Except a little like rollerblading. Nothing like ice skating. Well, maybe a little like ice skating? I have no idea what I'm trying to do here. Coming from a girl who has only ever made one snowman* in her entire life, I suppose it doesn't mean much to try and describe skiing. So I'll just say this: 

It was awesome**. 

I think that's it. We'll see what comes next. I'm sure I will not feel this incredible every single day. But I am equally as sure that regardless of what life has to throw at me, I have everything I need to handle it gracefully. 

Even if it just means to fall.

XO
A

*In the spirit of honesty, I would like to come clean about a few details regarding the snowman I made. 1. It was on Sunday.. the same day I learned how to ski.
2. It was about one foot tall.
3. He had no face

**I need new adjectives. Suggestions and applications are now being accepted 

Same-Same But Different

There is a certain high I get after teaching a class. Even if the class doesn't go well. It is completely different from the high I get after going to a class myself.

When I was a freshmen in college, my best friend Ruby went to China. She came back with wonderful gifts and exciting (and hysterical) stories. She said that there were these 'underground' black market malls where you could purchase the finest of knock off and rip-off purses, watches and a number of other items that really do not truly matter to the story. Anyway, she did this wonderful impersonation of Chinese ladies holding purses up to passersby and exclaiming, "Louis Vuitton, Coach, Prada. Same-same but different!"

That is how I feel. "Same-same but different" after walking out of a class I just took or a class I just taught. Tonight, I taught a class that included two of my very dear friends and one of their 12 year old son's. It was interesting and enlightening, that's for sure. And beautiful. And silly. And exciting. And nerve-wracking  And clarifying. And it came from my heart.

I have been teaching one of the girls since before we were required to do any unsupervised teaching hours. We have been growing together in this; me a new yoga teacher and she new to yoga as a whole. I have so much respect for this woman and to watch her put herself in sometimes uncomfortable and maybe scary positions has offered me the opportunity to learn some of the most important lessons in my life to date.

The high I am on right now is full of yin energy. I am relaxed and clear headed. I am ready to eat something warm for dinner and continue reading "The Breath of Yoga." I feel like the edges in the world are slightly blurred. Like everything could just melt together and that would be all right. When I walk out of a yoga class, most of the time even if it was a low energy relaxing class, I am full of yang! I am ready to go. I am energized. I can see clearly and I know exactly where I am in relation to everything around me. These feelings are so incredibly the same yet so incredibly different. So, I thank you Ruby-- and China-- for providing me with the most perfect phrase to describe this incredible phenomenon.

A

Teacher Training, Magic Tumeric and Yogi Tea

It's been a while. Sorry to fall off the face of the interwebs momentarily.

So much has happened! When I think about my life and my schedule these days, it can be a little overwhelming. With so much gratitude to all I am learning through yoga, meditation and pranayama (as well as my daily agenda planner) I have managed to not become overwhelmed but instead truly embrace all of the exciting and, at times, intimidating changes in my life.

This past weekend was the fifth of nine yoga teacher training weekends. It was, as usual, incredible. I learned a lot, both about yoga and myself. Not that I needed it at this point, but it only reaffirmed that this is exactly what I should be doing and where I should be going in my life. I've said this before, but the truth is before I embarked on this journey I was lost, lonely and confused. The moment I applied for this teacher training program I had an overwhelming feeling of certainty. I wasn't sure what I knew, but I knew I knew it.

Here recently, there have been a couple unfortunate hiccups in the road. But I think I have gotten everything smoothed out and things are getting better. I'm teaching a couple of times a week, practicing at home, going to classes I had never been to before and am also attending an inversion work shop this month! It's very exciting. If anyone is interested in some free yoga with me or wants some company at a yoga class, please feel free to let me know!

I wanted to share two recipes with you that one of my yoga instructor's shared with us this past weekend. In fact, the links will take you directly to her blog which I highly recommend perusing at your leisure.

The first is Golden Milk.
**I definitely recommend using the Almond Oil. I use sweetened Almond Milk so I don't have to use as much honey**

I made this last night because my muscles were so sore and swollen from this past weekend. In India, pregnant women drink Golden Milk the last few weeks of their pregnancy to help promote an easier and less painful labor. Tumeric has so many health benefits it is extraordinary. Tumeric prevents and slows the growth of cancer cells, detoxifies your liver and blood, fights bacterial infections and reduces pain/swelling among many other amazing health benefits. Here is a pretty comprehensive list of wonderful Tumeric magic.

The second recipe is Yogi Tea. Yogi Bahjan is the founder of the Yogi Tea brand. This is the original recipe that he taught to his students.

Sierra, the author of this blog and yoga instructor here in Western North Carolina, was one of his students before he passed away in 2004. I highly recommend both of these.. they are incredibly delicious and their health benefits are extraordinary!

Of course, I'm not a doctor. So do your own research and decide for yourself if the benefits out weigh any possible risks.. especially if pregnant. I'm pretty sure I have to say something about consulting your Doctor before taking any herbs or whatever while pregnant, right?

Hope you enjoy these as much as I do!

XO
A